Valour's Choice (27 page)

“It’s a skill,” he admitted smugly, looking pleased with himself.

Torin snorted and held her hand by his head. She didn’t bother hiding her relief when the turquoise hair lifted and stroked gently across her palm.

“The lieutenant was in earlier.”

“Was he?”

“Yeah.” Turquoise eyes sparkled. “He’s a cutie. Even if he is from a high family—talk about people doing piss all. He asked me what he could do to make me feel better.”

Which, given the patient, was either very naive or very di’Taykan. “And you made an explicit suggestion.”

“Oh, yeah.”

“And he said?”

“Later.” When Torin raised an eyebrow at him, Haysole gave her a look of wounded innocence. “I wouldn’t lie to you, Staff.” Wounded innocence became something more salacious. “Ask him yourself.”

“I don’t think so.” She touched her slate to the stretcher, downloading the data on his condition. “And if the lieutenant is coming back later, I’d better go so you can rest up.”

“You think I’ll need it?”

He’s only speculating,
Torin reminded herself as she straightened.
He can’t know.
She flashed him her best
staff sergeants know everything smile
as she moved away. “Not as much as
he
will.”

Neither of the other Marines who’d been injured in the crash of the VTA were as coherent. Torin spent a moment with each, discovered the lieutenant had spoken to them as well, and then moved on to Captain Daniels. The pilot still hadn’t regained consciousness, and according to the stretcher, her vital signs were barely holding. If not for the near constant attention of her aircrew...

Torin chased the thought away. This was a diplomatic mission. No one was supposed to die. She thought about saying something to Aircrew Trenkik, who was spooning a gruellike food into the captain’s open mouth and then massaging her throat until she swallowed, but she’d long ago overcome the need to speak meaningless comfort in order not to feel helpless in the face of inevitability.

Her helmet chirped a summons, so she headed for the door.

“Staff?” When he saw he had her attention, Haysole touched the masker at his throat. “Remember your promise.”

“If I die, take off the masker before you bag me.”

She could have reminded him that she hadn’t actually agreed. Instead, feeling the weight of the four cylinders over her heart, she said only, “I remember.”

* * *

This time, she found the lieutenant standing with six or seven other Marines by the south wall near the site of the protected latrine.

“Make sure that dirt pile is away from the wall,” she said, pausing. “Let’s not be building access ramps for the enemy.”

“How about I dump it there, Staff?” Stripped down to a sleeveless vest over her exoskeleton, Chandra Dar pointed a heavily laden shovel back into the compound.

“There’s fine.”

“How deep do you want it?” the heavy gunner asked, dumping her load and driving the blade in for another.

Torin glanced over her shoulder, but the lieutenant had his attention firmly fixed on something outside the wall. “How deep were you told to dig it?”

“Not as deep as the water table.”

“Then I suggest you follow the lieutenant’s orders.”

Dar looked down at dirt so dry she couldn’t have got the blade into it without her augmentation and then up at the staff sergeant. “Well, yeah, but he’s...”

“Your commanding officer.”

Golden-brown skin blanched at Torin’s tone. “I didn’t mean anything against him, Staff.”

“Good.” A gesture suggested the heavy gunner return to work. Torin watched another shovel load removed, then continued toward Lieutenant Jarret. It wasn’t difficult to fill in the end of Dar’s protest.

Yeah, but he’s never done this before and you have.

Heading into combat, that sort of attitude was going to crop up a lot more often. With some justification. It hadn’t mattered while they were marching up and down before various governments, but no one wanted to die because a brand new second lieutenant gave the wrong order.
So I’ll just have to see that he gives the right orders. After all, if the job was easy, everybody’d be doing it.
“You wanted to see me, si...”

The ground under her boots trembled.

“What was that?”

“That,” Jarret told her, smiling, “was what I wanted you to see.”

She followed his pointing finger, moving close enough to the wall so that the eastern building didn’t cut off her line of sight. “That’s...”

“Your herbivore. I apologize for ever doubting your ability to correctly identify a pile of shit.”

“Thank you, sir,” she answered absently, her gaze locked on the creature chewing a path through the vegetation. From the lines of drying mud high on its haunches, it had recently come up out of the swamp. “That thing’s bigger than our sleds.”

“It’sss a
ghartivatrampasss,”
Cri Sawyes announced, joining them. “I’ve heard of them, but thisss isss the firssst I’ve ever ssseen. Video doesssn’t do it jussstice.”

“Couldn’t possibly,” Torin agreed.

A glistening purple tongue emerged from a lipless mouth, wrapped around a square meter or so of stems, and scooped the grasses up into its mouth. The background rasp Torin had assumed was insects moved to the foreground and was identified as the sound of the silicates being ground between whatever served the creature for teeth. The ground trembled as it took another step. Then it continued to placidly feed, ignoring its audience. In spite of its size, it was a performance that could only hold the attention for so long.

“All right.” Torin turned to the cluster of Marines. “Who told you lot to stop working?”

By the time the
ghartivatrampas
had moved out of sight behind the west building, only Cri Sawyes was still watching it. “I’ve been told they’re extremely tasssty,” he explained, when Lieutenant Jarret asked him why.

“Tasty?” Lieutenant Ghard looked intrigued. “I’ll just go have another look, then.” He glanced over at Jarret who waved him off.

“That’s the most enthusiasm he’s shown about anything since Captain Daniels was wounded,” Jarret murmured as they watched the Krai run into the building where a window would give him a framed view.

“I believe he wasss jussst asss enthusssiassstic about taking me apart,” Cri Sawyes mentioned offhandedly.

* * *

“Staff Sergeant Kerr, have you a moment?”

“Of course, Ambassador Krik’vir.” Torin stood and snapped her slate back onto her belt. She’d made her preparations. If the Silsviss didn’t attack, soon she’d have moved right through anticipation and into annoyance.
And an annoyed staff sergeant is an ugly thing.
“How can I help you?”

“Actually, we wished to know how we could help you. We have never been in a battle before and we are uncertain of how to behave.”

“The best thing a noncombatant can do in a battle is to stay out of the way.”

“We were actually thinking more of transporting your wounded to the doctor’s position. Using one of the wounded in the infirmary, we have determined we are strong enough working together to lift a stretcher and a Marine as well. We are capable of great speed and our movements are not restricted by bilateral symmetry.”

It took Torin a moment to work out which “we” involved all four Mictok and which were merely part of a communal speech pattern. “It sounds like you’ve really thought this through.”

“We have.” The ambassador paused, left antennae running up and down the right. “We did not agree with this battle,” she said at last. “As we are here, we will be of use.”

Did not agree?
Diplomats,
Torin thought.
Can’t have a battle without filling in the paperwork.
“You should speak with the lieutenant, ma’am.”

“Lieutenant Jarret is concemed with keeping us safe, Staff Sergeant. We find that admirable...” Her mandibles clicked a time or two. “...but stifling. We are civilians, yes, but we are also adults and able to make our own decisions. We understand you have survived many battles.”

“Yes, ma’am. But it wouldn’t be wise to remind the lieutenant that he hasn’t.”

“Of course not, but we hoped you would be willing to use that experience to put our offer in its best light.”

If the Silsviss ever arrived, they’d be vastly outnumbered.

If there were enough Silsviss, some of them would get through.

If some of them got through, Marines would be wounded.

If the Mictok acted as stretcher bearers, the one remaining corpsman could assist the doctor and she could keep all her Marines in the fight.

“I’ll speak to the lieutenant.”

“Thank you, Staff Serg...”

“Oh, yeah? You wanna fukking make something of it!”

“Tough guy! You weren’t plugged in I’d flatten your ass!”

“Well, if that’s all that’s fukking stopping you!” Juan shrugged out of his vest and tunic in the same motion and was working on the fasteners of his shirt when he went down.

“If you’ll excuse me, Ambassador.” A dozen steps took Torin to the fight. Leaning away from a wild swing, she grabbed first Juan’s upper arm between two of the exoskeleton’s contact points and then mirrored the grip on the other Marine. Using their own momentum, she slammed their bodies together. “That will be quite enough of that.”

More surprised than stunned by the impact, they staggered apart, turned toward her, and began to simultaneously yell out their reasons for the fight.

Torin raised her hand and the yelling stopped. “I don’t care why,” she said. “If you two want to beat the snot out of each other on your own time, well, you’re adults, feel free. But, in case you hadn’t noticed, we’re at combat readiness right now, which puts you on my time. You start up again and I will personally throw your sorry butts over the wall at the first Silsviss I see. Do you understand me, Private Checya?”

“Yes, Staff Sergeant.” He fiddled with his wrist point, looked as though he wanted to add something, and clearly thought better of it.

“Do you understand me, Private Anderson?”

“Yes, Staff Sergeant.”

“Good. Now, since you’re clearly bored, I can always find something for you to do...”

To no one’s surprise, they both suddenly remembered urgent preparations they needed to make.

“All right, you lot, show’s over.” Sergeant Glicksohn’s voice scattered the small audience. “You enjoyed that too much,” he said to Torin when they were alone.

“Nothing breaks up the morning like banging a couple of heads together.”

He nodded toward the place where Torin had been standing. “What did the sp...” When that raised an eyebrow, he finished, “...speaking Mictok want?”

“Oh, nice recovery.”

“Best you’ll get.”

“The ambassador was offering her party’s services as stretcher bearers.”

“And you said...”

“It’s not up to me, it’s up to the lieutenant.”

“Yeah, right.”

“I said I’d present their offer in the best possible light.”

“Well, here’s your chance. I think our fearless leader wants to know what all the shouting was about.” He sighed. “God save me from twoie looies who need to be kept informed about every little detail.”

“Give him a break, Mike. He’s not doing too badly.”

“He’s doing what you tell him.”

“No. He’s making his own decisions, but he’s listening to what I tell him.”

“It’s a start. Hey, Torin.” He stopped her as she turned away. “If I get hit, I don’t want a Mictok to be the last thing I see.”

“Easy solution. Don’t get hit.” She couldn’t make out the words, but from the tone his response was decidedly insulting. She was still smiling when she reached Lieutenant Jarret. “Yes, sir?”

“There was a fight...?”

“Not really, sir. Just a disagreement brought on by the waiting.”

“It does feel like we’ve been waiting forever, doesn’t it? Half the platoon’s asleep.”

A quick glance around the compound showed slightly more than half the platoon with their helmets pulled forward to shade their eyes. Corporal Conn appeared to be writing home—again— and from the faint sound of dramatic music, Binti Mashona had a game biscuit in her slate. Strictly speaking, during combat readiness the slates were for military use only, but Torin trusted her people to be ready when the fighting started.

“Old soldier’s trick, sir. Sleep when you can.”

“You’re not sleeping, Staff.”

“Staff sergeants never sleep, sir.”

“Ever vigilant?”

“You’ve been reading the brochure.”

He smiled, and she had a sudden memory of those incredible lips tracing a cool, moist line from her throat to her navel.

“Staff?”

It had to have been triggered by the heat. Or the waiting. Or that hit of pheromone she’d taken at dawn was still working on her. She buried the memory before the lips moved any lower and she embarrassed herself.
And none too soon. My heart’s pounding like a... wait a minute.
“Can you hear that?”

Jarret nodded, head cocked, hair fluffed fully out. “It sounds like an engine of some kind. An old one. Maybe internal combustion.”

It was a steady, regular thrum that seemed to thicken the air. The sleepers woke. The lookouts up on the roofs began twisting around, trying to pinpoint the direction. There
was
no direction. It came from all around them.

Weapon ready, Torin slowly turned in place. The civilians had spilled out of their building and stood in the compound, unmoving. Listening. Cri Sawyes, still unarmed, was standing by the well, tail lashing from side to side, throat pouch fully extended.

When she faced the north again, she understood.

Throat pouch fully extended...

“I don’t think it’s an engine, sir.”

“Then what else could it...”

One moment the surrounding low hills were merely an empty, purple horizon. The next, they were crowned with Silsviss. The thrumming from a thousand throats grew louder and ended in a bass note so deep, it continued to buzz through the silence that followed.

“Holy fuk.”

Lieutenant Jarret snorted. “Private Checya, I think you’ve just expressed the official reaction.”

Laughter banished the last of the buzz, and Torin threw a silent
well done
to the lieutenant. His ear points flushed slightly.